


Friendly Competition

by TheCheerfulPornographer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anal Sex, Bondage, Drugs, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Slavery, everyone wins at a sex competition, inherently noncon because of slavery, oops I got plot in my porn, optional wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCheerfulPornographer/pseuds/TheCheerfulPornographer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is eager to please his new Master.  When his Master's friend proposes a little competition between Sam and her own body-slave, Dean, Sam is determined to make his Master proud.  </p><p>But can he resist Dean's charms long enough to win?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Competition

**Author's Note:**

> This is surprisingly lighthearted for a slave!fic, if that's possible. Nothing too horrible happens, and everybody has a pretty good time.
> 
> I've intentionally left it ambiguous whether, in this verse, Sam and Dean are related. If they are, they would have been sold to different Houses as infants, and would have no way of ever knowing. But I leave it to the reader, to interpret as you like.

"So, how's the new boy working out?"

The other owner, Sam's Master's friend, peered inquisitively at Sam from the couch where she was lounging. He fought back the urge to hide away behind the leg of Master's chair, and focused on keeping his posture straight, eyes lowered, hands set parallel on his bent knees. The position was, by now, second nature; over the course of Sam's Training, he'd probably spent years in that posture.

This was Sam's first time being presented to one of Master's close friends, since his purchase a week ago. He badly wanted to leave a good impression, to be a credit to his House and to his Master, and that meant making himself as submissive and obedient and beautiful as he could be.

"Oh, Sam here is simply wonderful. I've had no complaints; his Training is impeccable. And he certainly makes a pleasant addition to my decor." His Master laughed, lightly, and the other woman nodded in agreement.

Sam wasn't proud — he was a slave, how could he be? — but he knew that he was beautiful. His Trainers had always commented on his looks, on his wide, innocent eyes and the sleek fall of dark hair that curled around his face, on the comeliness of his long limbs, and, as he got older, on the pleasing musculature of his arms and torso, and the proud, well-proportioned length of his cock. 

Sam knew he'd been purchased by his very first prospective buyer, for a princely sum. He was a prize among his age group, one of House Star-of-the-Morning's most lucrative sales ever. (Sam had not been sold at the public slave-auctions, of course. Those were for _common_ stock. Like all slaves Trained by Star-of-the-Morning, he'd been placed via private broker, after a long series of inspections in which he demonstrated his beauty and his Training, and his potential Master in turn proved she could care for him in the manner to which a body-slave was legally entitled.) He should be able to impress any friend or acquaintance; that was part of his role, to display his Master's status and wealth.

And Sam's Master certainly was wealthy. Her friend must be equally so; the other woman had brought along her own body-slave, who knelt obediently beside her couch, his posture mimicking Sam's own. Sam flicked his eyes up at the other boy without turning his head, and almost startled when he saw that the other slave was staring openly at him. Sam snapped his eyes back to the floor, and felt sure that he was blushing.

This other slave was certainly forward. 

Sam wondered where he had been trained, what his House was. He was not from Star-of-the-Morning, or Sam would have known him straightaway, but there were a handful of other well-respected Houses that could have Trained a top-tier slave. And with his looks, this other boy would certainly be a top-tier slave; he was, perhaps, even prettier than Sam himself.

Sam allowed himself to glance over again, and looked away when he saw that the other slave was still staring. Yes, he was very beautiful, with golden-brown hair and pleasing facial features. He was wearing a ball-gag, and Sam wondered at the reason, whether it was a punishment or simply a fetish that his Master had. It might well be the second. The large black gag only emphasized the boy's sensual and expressive lips, making him look more vulnerable and that much more lovely. Images inevitably came to mind of those lips stretched around other things...

Sam pressed his hands against his legs slightly, to regain focus. It would not do to wander off mentally and miss something that his Master said.

"Oh look," the other Master giggled. She giggled rather a lot, and even more so now, after consuming glass upon delicate glass of the sweet liquor that they were drinking. "I think my Dean likes your Sammy."

His Master set her hand down on Sam's head, running the fingers through his hair slightly. He couldn't stop himself from preening slightly at the touch. "Does your Dean, then?" she said, sounding indulgent and amused. Master was in a good mood today. "Well, I can't blame him. Sammy here is a very good boy, aren't you, darling?"

Sam's heart jumped a little, and as he whispered, "Yes, Master," he looked toward the side again. The other boy — Dean — was still staring, and as Sam watched, he dipped his eyelid in a subtle but unmistakeable wink.

_Oh, my._

Sam was taken aback. This other slave seemed like he might be trouble.

"Oh, I have an idea!" The other Master clapped her hands together, in excitement. "They would look so good together, don't you think? Light and dark, the taller and the smaller, two different concepts of male beauty... Yes! I know a game that we could play, to amuse us before dinner!"

"A game?"

"Well, actually, it's sort of a contest. Basically, they both take turns fucking each other, and whichever one makes the other one come in the shortest amount of time is rewarded with a blowjob from the loser."

His Master shifted in her chair. Sam couldn't read the meaning. "That does sound... picturesque," she admitted. "But a blowjob? I don't know... Isn't that sort of going against the principle that only a slave's Master gets to make him come? I mean, I don't want to confuse or alarm him." She petted Sam's head again, as if in reassurance.

"Oh, c'mon Susan, don't be booooring." The other Master laughed again. "What's the first thing they teach you about caring for a slave?"

"To provide them with firm discipline and many orgasms," his Master recited instantly, as if it was something she had said many times.

"Exactly. So? This falls under the second part." She paused to pour herself another glass of liquor. "Besides, I've played Dean in this contest many a time, and an occasional blowjob sure hasn't hurt him any." She went to pat at Dean's head and missed, nearly sloshing alcohol onto the floor. Sam used the distraction to look at Dean more closely, to assess what would apparently be his competition.

Dean's cock wasn't quite as large as his own, but it was proud and well-proportioned in its tight leather sleeve, standing proud and erect against his well-muscled abdomen. _It wouldn't be so bad, to have to suck that,_ a little voice in the back of Sam's head whispered, but he pushed the thought away. _No. If Master wishes me to win, then I will do so,_ he told himself sternly. _I will make her proud._

"Okay, fine. You're on," Sam's Master challenged.

"Great! But I have to warn you, Dean has never lost, not once. Undefeated champion fucker, right here."

"Oh, well in that case, we should let him bottom first, if he's so amazing. Shall we shoot them up, and then begin?" Sam's Master was already rising to her feet, the drink making her waver only a little.

"Dean's already taken care of, but go ahead."

She snapped her fingers, and a bowing attendant brought her the little jeweled case that held Sam's needle. He did his best to keep his breathing steady as the sharp point pierced his skin, and shivered a little as the now-familiar electricity ran through his veins, rushing straight to his groin and making his cock ache and throb against its binding.

Hepto was a drug that was only given to body-slaves once they were owned and past their Training. It allowed them to come over and over again while staying hard for hours, their arousal never flagging until the drug wore off. Sam was still getting used to the needle, and to the insistent, powerful urges that it gave him. 

Hepto was also the main reason that a body-slave was such a big investment, many times more expensive than a typical house-servant. Not only was the drug itself costly, but its regular users became desensitized over time. Most body-slaves only lasted a decade or so before they could no longer adequately perform. However, by law a Master was required to support former body-slaves for the duration of their retirement. 

It was not unheard-of for a body-slave to outlive his owner, and have to be accounted for in the Master's will.

But Sam was still new, hardly broken in yet, and thus incredibly sensitive. It took only a quarter-syringe full of the hepto to make him thrust his hips forward, and moan. His Master chuckled, and took his chin in her hand. "Well, Sam, you heard her; this slave has never been beaten at this game. But you know what? I have faith in your giant cock and your sweet, tight ass." She slapped his cheek lightly, affectionately. "Make me proud. Go fuck this Dean until he sees stars."

Sam bowed his head to the floor in obedience. "Yes, Master."

"Good boy."


	2. Sam's Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains really minor blood (a split lip)

His Master took his leash and led him out to the center of the room, where Dean was already being trussed up on the fuck-stand. Dean knelt obediently on his knees and forearms while the servants strapped thick metal bands over his wrists, holding him in place with his belly lowered and his head and ass pushed up high. His back formed a beautiful, perfect arch; Sam found himself mesmerized by the straining and movement of breath and muscle. 

The servants pulled Dean's knees apart as far as they would go and fixed thick metal bars between them, and also at his ankles, keeping him spread wide apart. Finally, Dean's Master herself came down and reached beneath him, unlocking and unsnapping the tight sheath that kept his cock restrained and on display. Sam watched as Dean's hips thrust slightly into the touch, and bit his lip. The hepto in his blood was already urging him forward, forward, making him want to fuck into that perfect ass again and again, mindlessly pushing until he filled it with his come.

In his week of service, Sam had fucked a man once, at his Master's command. It had been pleasurable, and he had made the man come, but that man had been nothing. That man hadn't been beautiful.

That man hadn't been Dean.

Sam felt a lot more nervous about his ability to win this competition than he had a few minutes ago.

His Master positioned Sam behind Dean, bending him over with his arms held straight. He easily supported himself at an angle that would allow him to slide right in, and thrust freely.

"Ready?" His Master's friend said, holding up a stopwatch. "Okay, round one. Go!"

Immediately Sam slid into Dean's slick and welcoming opening. The sensation was less shocking than it might have been a week before, when his eager cock had never touched warm skin. Now, at least the feeling of slippery softness wrapped around his member was not completely unfamiliar.

But nothing had never felt so tight before. Nothing had never felt the way Dean's ass felt as it gripped and squeezed around Sam's cock, welcoming it in and cradling it in softness. And never before had anything been so warm; Dean's insides burned fever-hot, and Sam couldn't silence a gasp as he slipped further in. Nothing else had felt as soft as velvet, nothing else had been as smooth as silk. Sam was flooded with a myriad of intense sensations, all centered around the place where his cock joined with Dean's body.

Despite his inexperience, Sam was well-trained; he angled his thrusts to move consistently over Dean's prostate, and set up a steady, pounding rhythm that never faltered. Dean cried out and squirmed beneath him, moaning and trying to thrust his hips back, taking the few inches of movement that he could. If it wasn't a contest, Sam would have loved to just hold him like that and keep him for awhile, splayed open around Sam's cock while he thrust in slowly, teasing Dean for hours and watching him beg and writhe. But that wasn't the game, and instead Sam braced himself more strongly with one arm, and lifted the other to reach around Dean's body and slide over his cock. 

The minute his hand brushed the other boy's member, he knew that this would be over quickly, for both of them; it was just a question of who would relent first. The dual stimulation caused all of Dean's muscles to clench and tense, which made his ass feel even tighter, somehow. It felt so mindblowingly good, Sam could tell that he was on the verge of coming. 

He bit his lip hard, hard enough to taste the tang of copper in his mouth. He hoped that the pain would distract him, would work against the pleasure for a moment. Maybe buy him some time to push Dean over the top, and it might have worked. But Sam made the mistake of leaning forward just as a drop of blood beaded up from his split lip. It trembled for a moment before gravity took over, and then it fell, mixing with the sweat on Dean's back.

Sam looked down, and saw it: just one drop of blood, his own blood, standing out in a blotchy crimson circle against the delicate brown freckles that covered the slave's back. His blood, marking Dean's back. Sam saw the stain that it left on Dean's skin as it rolled down, gathering speed, leaving traces of itself behind. 

He saw the perfect globes of Dean's ass, and the way they clenched and closed around the place where his cock split them. He saw the dark red of Dean's cock as it moved in and out of the circle of his hand. He saw the way Dean's head was thrown back, his eyes glazed, his sensual lips twisted around the gag into a silent howl, trying desperately to hold himself back. 

Sam saw all of this, all of it at once. And when he saw it, his self-control faltered, and his hips snapped forward uncontrollably, again and again. Convulsions rocked his body as he gave up and spilled himself out into Dean completely, holding nothing back. 

A mere second later, he felt warmth and wetness cover his own hand as Dean came, but a second was enough.

_Ah, fuck._

He collapsed forward onto Dean, still hard from the hepto, and trembled through the aftermath. 

When the Masters approached, Sam had enough presence of mind to quickly smear his hand through the thin line of blood on Dean's back, removing all traces of it from his skin. He wanted, for some reason, to keep that image to himself.


	3. Dean's Round

The servants came and pulled Sam to his feet, and removed Dean's bindings so that they could tie Sam in his place. Sam avoided Dean's eyes when the other slave passed, not wanting to face the other slave's gloating.

When the servants began to bend Sam over the fuck-stand, the other Master once again chimed in. "Oh, c'mon, let's mix it up a little. I'm bored of that position. What's wrong, Susan, are you running short on gear?" It was a subtle insult, designed to call into question his Master's wealth. She sighed, but apparently felt like she had to respond, so suddenly the servants were running to fetch other chains and bindings. 

"Goody!" her friend exclaimed. "This time, let's have them face-to-face."

In the end, Sam was lifted to lie on a low table, positioned below chains that hung down from the ceiling. One chain was wound around and around his wrists, binding them together and lifting them high over Sam's head, raising his arms up as far as they would go. At the same time, thick leather cuffs with D-rings were fastened around his knees and ankles, and each of these cuffs was also attached to a chain. When all of the cuffs and bindings were locked in place, Sam was left perched on the very edge of the table, with his legs parted and lifted, knees bent, ass and cock freely displayed to anyone standing in front of him.

It was a tremendously vulnerable position, and also slightly unfair. Sam had strained to touch Dean's cock from behind, while he would have free and easy access to Sam's, as well as to any information betrayed by his face. It was definitely a more intimate position, and Sam wondered suddenly if it might have been a setup.

Perhaps there was a reason, other than pure skill and beauty, that Dean had won all of those previous contests.

Sam pressed his lips together, feeling the sting where he had bitten down, and resolved that it didn't matter. He was still going to make Dean come faster; he was still going to win. He was going to please his Master.

At some point while Sam was being prepped, Dean's Master finally removed his ball-gag. When he was led over by his leash to stand between Sam's thighs, Sam realized, with a sinking feeling, that he looked even more beautiful with his face unobscured. Dean's mouth was reddened and swollen where it had been stretched by the gag, and his cheeks were still flushed from his previous exertion. He was truly the picture of delicate, male beauty, and Sam couldn't tear his eyes away.

Each of Dean's features seemed to possess a strange power of attraction; nowhere that Sam could look was safe. Sam managed, with a great burst of willpower, to remove his gaze from the other slave's mouth, only to be caught by the freckles that dotted his shapely nose. When he finally managed to look away from those, he was pinned down by the play of shadows and reflections that passed across wide, darkened green eyes.

When Sam met Dean's gaze for the second time ever, after having fucked Dean and about to get fucked in his turn, he expected the other slave's eyes to be filled with gloating. Possibly a cocky smirk, a knowingly-arched eyebrow. Something to mock Sam's weakness, and the obvious attraction that he had to Dean's beauty. 

Instead, what Sam got was a clear, steady, and oddly innocent gaze, delivered with eyes that were possibly even wider and darker than Sam's own.

_Like what you see, huh?_

Sam felt the corners of his mouth lift up into a grin — not a sexy pout nor a come-hither invitation, not any of the seduction tools in Sam's vast repertoire, but a genuine, honest-to-goodness grin — as if to say, "Look at us, and isn't this ridiculous?"

Dean grinned right back, the smile flashing across his face, transforming it. It was like the sun coming out, changing him from merely beautiful to something stellar. Such brightness. Sam felt his heart jump and his gut clench.

There was no time to ponder it at that moment, though. Sam's Master was there, lifting her stopwatch, saying "Go!". And then Dean was pressed up right against him, with the tip of his cock pushing slowly into Sam's stretched and oiled entrance. It felt... 

Oh, that was _very_ good.

Surprisingly, Dean didn't just begin pounding right away. He slipped in and out slowly and circled his hips around, setting up a teasing rhythm that made Sam clench and cry out, while at the same time his fingers ran gently, up and down the length of Sam's cock. This was the moment Dean used his experience to his advantage, showing Sam how a slow tease could be just as effective as a brutal, pounding rhythm. Meanwhile, Dean kept up eye contact the whole time, allowing Sam to see and looking at him in return.

It was surprisingly intimate, arranged face-to-face like this. Sam could see every expression that crossed Dean's face, every gasp of pleasure, every grimace of concentration. It was becoming amazingly difficult to remember that they were supposed to be competing. He wanted so badly to relax into Dean's touch, to trust those clear green eyes and the openness of their gaze. Dean seemed to be saying, "Let me take care of you. Let me do this," and Sam wanted so badly to say yes.

Dean began to thrust faster, rubbing Sam's body both inside and out. In his vulnerable position, Sam could feel every move. Now Dean had both hands on Sam's cock, sliding them up and down with a coy little twist that left Sam's hips thrusting up into his hands. Sam was caught between the two sensations: the desire to bear down against the cock that pressed into him, and the urge to push up into the glorious pressure around his own shaft. No matter which way he moved, Dean was right there with him, leaving Sam unable to gain even a moment of respite.

_I'm going to lose._

The realization left a part of Sam distantly regretful. This was the good part, the obedient voice that had been ingrained from birth, the part that was most concerned with letting down his Master. But that part was small right now, in the face of Dean's green eyes. Mostly, Sam just felt relief. He allowed himself to relax and move with Dean's thrusts, giving himself over fully and allowing Dean to take him. The other slave must have noticed the difference, because he leaned even closer between one thrust and the next, leaving the two boys pressed together skin to skin, chest against chest.

They were so close, and Dean's eyes were so green, and his hands were so sure as they brought Sam toward his completion. This was Sam's only excuse for what he did next: it was pure instinct. There was no room for calculation, no room left for _thinking_ , only desire. Maybe that's why Sam leaned his head forward and laid it against Dean's shoulder; maybe that's why he pressed his lips against Dean's neck. He was falling apart, he was turning into water in Dean's hands; there was nothing left for Sam to keep hidden.

So when Dean turned his head with a question in his eyes, it seemed perfectly natural for Sam to pull himself up by his wrists and press his lips softly against Dean's gorgeous mouth. And it seemed natural, when Dean's mouth fell open, for Sam to slide his tongue inside and tease it over the sensitive surfaces he found there. 

Sam didn't think anything of it, at first. In fact, he didn't think anything at all for a long and blissful moment, as they kissed and kissed and kissed. He didn't start thinking again until Dean gave a soft yelp and snapped his hips forward, hard, into Sam, and a sudden, warm wetness flooded Sam's insides. 

Sam pulled back, eyes wide, to see Dean hunched over, supporting himself with both arms, as he shuddered through his orgasm. The look on Dean's face was one of helpless pleasure mixed with shock. Then Sam heard his Master's laughter, not cruel but gleeful, and remembered the contest.

"I told you!" she was saying gleefully to her friend. "I told you not to underestimate my Sammy!" 

He looked over, and she was waving the stopwatch in her friend's face. 

"He beat Dean's time by seven seconds!"


	4. The Prize

Sam was intensely curious about what it might feel like to receive a blowjob. He'd already delivered quite a few of them in the course of his duties, and he really wanted to know what was so great about it, that made men line up to be on the receiving end. 

Besides, Dean might have lost control prematurely, but Sam had been interrupted mid-fuck, and his dick was still full and heavy and desperate to be touched. 

The fact that it would be this _particular_ boy wrapping his lips around Sam's cock only made it more appealing.

Dean's Master was grumbling, but Sam noted with relief that she seemed to be good-natured and not overly upset. He would hate to have caused real trouble for his fellow slave. "Fine," she was saying, her voice filled with disappointment. Clearly she'd been looking forward to the image of Sam on his knees in front of Dean. "Do you want to move him, or shall we get on with this?"

His Master hesitated for a minute, before reaching a decision. "Yes, I think I will." She motioned to the servants. "Take him down. I want to see him unrestrained, for this."

As his legs and arms were lowered and the cuffs removed, his Master stood behind Sam and petted at his hair approvingly. "Good boy," she said softly. "I'm very proud of you. I don't know where you got the idea to kiss, but it was very clever. It surprised that slave, and he was coming in no time. I may have to give you my own reward, later."

When Sam was entirely free of his bonds, she arranged him once again according to her pleasure, this time on his knees with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. She brushed her fingers lightly over Sam's unbound cock, laughing at the wetness that rubbed off onto her fingers. Master tugged at his hair gently, and whispered, "I don't want to see you move from this position until your come is smeared all over Dean's face."

"Yes, Master," he said obediently. This task in no way felt like a hardship.

Master went over and picked up Dean's leash, being careful not to touch him and thus insult his Master. "On your knees, slave," she barked, and he obediently fell.

She tugged on his leash and walked him on his knees to where Sam knelt, yanking the leash down until his head was positioned right between Sam's thighs. Sam's cock twitched in anticipation, and he could barely keep from pushing his hips forward, despite his Master's admonition to be still. He felt the stirring of Dean's breath across the tip, the other boy's lips now hovering only centimeters away. 

Then Dean opened his mouth and pounced, enclosing Sam's tip in his soft and skillful lips. Slowly he moved downward, taking more and more of Sam's cock in, until Sam was fully seated his mouth. Then, he began to suck around him. This was like pouring gasoline on a candle. 

Sam was taken over by intense sensations, and no longer had any reason to hold back. He pushed frantically upward, over and over, roughly, with no semblance of self-control. He wanted only to be further inside, to go deeper, to be even more enclosed by the warm, wet mouth that tightened around him. Sam really was quite large; despite his Training, Dean gagged on him a little. But Dean never pulled away, or backed off in the slightest. 

Once again Dean kept up eye contact the whole time, looking up at Sam coyly through long eyelashes, with clear green eyes that teared up slightly whenever he gagged.

Dean's mouth was not as tight as his ass, but it was somehow warmer, and astonishingly wet. As he pushed in, Dean kept flicking his tongue along Sam's shaft, touching and teasing in the most sensitive places, while at the same time maintaining a gentle suction that caused even more blood to rush into Sam's cock.

 _Okay, I get the attraction now,_ Sam thought, as Dean continued to fellate him with great skill and enthusiasm.

It was difficult to break eye contact. He didn't want to break that clear green gaze, felt as if he could sink into it forever — but at the same time, Sam couldn't resist the impulse to cast his eyes downward, to look at the place where Dean's lips stretched thin around the base of his cock, struggling to take it in. He couldn't help himself. It was mesmerizing, the way Dean's mouth closed around each thrust, giving Sam everything that he needed. Holding nothing back. 

The other slave gave of himself wholeheartedly, and Sam loved him for it, in that moment.

As ready as Sam had been before they started, it didn't take long before he could feel his orgasm building, his thighs drawing together and his muscles beginning to clench.

When Sam came for the second time that evening, it was with his cock buried in Dean's throat while Dean frantically swallowed, teasing out wave after wave of come and drinking it all down. There was so much of it that even with his practice Dean couldn't take it all. Some escaped the corners of his mouth and smeared everywhere as he rubbed his face against Sam's thigh, leaving him come-shot and sticky. Marked by Sam, for the second time that day. 

It was the hardest and best orgasm that Sam had ever had, in his relatively meagre experience.

The whole time, while he jerked and shouted, all that Sam was thinking of was Dean's mouth: wrapped around his cock, pressed against his own, sharing a private smile. He was remembering the smooth glide of their tongues, one over the other, in Sam's first-ever kiss. And he was picturing the way Dean kept looking at him and refused to stop, even when Sam was frantically fucking his mouth.

After he came down, shuddering and sweating, Sam met Dean's gaze again and tried to convey all that he'd been thinking. Sam wasn't sure how much the other boy caught, wasn't sure if Dean understood what this meant to him. It was more than just a very pleasant orgasm. It was Sam's first blowjob; more than that, even, it was his first kiss. 

He knew that he would never forget the other slave, even if he never saw him again in his whole life.

As his Master pulled Sam up and led him over to kneel again at her feet, he tried very hard to forget that possibility. He tried to forget that Dean could easily disappear in a few hours, taken away back to his Master's palace; he tried to forget that he might never see Dean again, after today.

It was dangerous, to care like that. To become attached. A relationship between slaves was nothing that society had room for. A slave belonged only to his Master, and his loyalty was to her. That was the way it was, and the way it was supposed to be.

Sam consoled himself with the reminder that his Master and Dean's Master were friends, and surely she would visit on a regular basis. Surely she would bring her body-slave along. Surely she would want Dean to entertain her, with Sam.

Surely that was the case. 

Sam resolved to wait and hope that it was true. There was little else that he could do.


	5. Epilogue

**15 years later**

It is the fourth day of Sam's retirement, and he is in his room. His room is where Sam has spent most of the past four days, trying to get used to the concept of having a _room_. His whole life before now, Sam has shared sleeping quarters with others. As a slave, of course, he had served in his Master's chambers, and before that he was raised in a Training barracks, with little privacy and constant oversight.

Now, for the first time, he has a room.

His room is tiny, hardly bigger than a closet. There is a bed and a desk and some shelves for his things, one small closet, and off to the side a tiny washroom. 

Sam has never in his life spent so much time alone as in these past four days. The first two nights, he couldn't even sleep, so unused is he to lying down in silence.

With his retirement, Sam is starting a new life at the age of thirty-three. Now, in his thirties, he has to learn how to wear real clothing, not just decorative straps. He has to learn to wash himself, rather than being bathed. He has to learn how to sleep without having his hands chained to the bedposts, lest he be tempted to touch himself at night.

If he wanted to, now, he could touch himself all night. So far, he's declined to try, feeling content to go these days go by without a single orgasm. It is incredibly strange.

Most of all, now, he needs to learn to fill his days, without the constant demands of service and performance. Sam's still working on figuring that one out, but he's excited for the challenge.

He's wrestling with the ties of his simple tunic when there's a knock on the door, and a familiar voice breaks into his reverie. 

"You need some help with that?"

Sam looks up and Dean is there, leaning casually against the door. ( _His_ door.) Dean graces him with that private grin that Sam has always, from the very first time he saw it, thought of as his own.

They've seen each other quite a few times during the past the 15 years. Their Masters seemed for awhile to enjoy throwing the boys together and making them perform, placing them into a variety of challenges and scenes, as each woman strove to outdo the other. As a result, they've had some very satisfying sex together. 

For example, Sam will always look back with fondness on the dinner party where he and Dean served as the centerpiece, ordered to cuddle together and stroke one another for hours while they traded tender kisses, to the great amusement of his Master's dinner guests.

Master has always treated their tendency to kiss as a charming quirk — aesthetically pleasing, and therefore permitted.

All of that stopped, though, when Dean retired seven years ago. All that time, Sam has thought it likely that he would never see Dean again. He assumed and hoped that the older slave was spending his retirement in comfort, in his Master's palace, and did his best to put Dean out of his mind.

It never really worked, of course. Despite the intervening years, Sam recognizes Dean instantly. The other slave's face is a little more lined, with the beginning of crow's-feet around his eyes, but Dean is still every bit as beautiful as he was in his twenties.

"Dean! Oh my god..." Sam rushes over and throws his arms around the other man, sweeping him up into a tight embrace. Dean melts against him, and Sam holds him closes, basking in his warmth. "It's so good to see you again," Sam whispers, his voice muffled against Dean's neck.

"Yeah, Sammy. Same here." 

When they finally pull apart, Dean is blinking quickly, and Sam's own eyes are suspiciously wet. Still, Dean's voice is steady as he teases, "So I hear they finally wore you out. What was it, 15 years?"

"That's right." Sam spreads his arms. "I'm officially hepto-resistant. My uncollaring ceremony was last Thursday."

Dean snorts. "Took you long enough, Gigantor." This is true; Sam's large build had slowed the development of resistance, keeping him in service long past the typical decade. Still, all of that was done now, and here he was.

"How did you even get here?" he inquires. Though they are retired, they're still slaves, without the rights of Citizens to wander the streets freely. And Dean's Master would have no reason to bring him here, now that he is out of service.

Dean smirks. "I charmed a servant into sneaking me in with Master's retinue." Sam smiles at his scheming, and doesn't bother to ask what he had to do to bribe the servant. It honestly doesn't matter. They've both fucked hundreds if not thousands of people, and there's no point in pretending otherwise.

Still, Dean is the only one that Sam has ever kissed.

Dean is looking around the room with interest, taking in Sam's meagre belongings and neatly folded sheets. His eye pauses on the little row of books, the five precious tomes that Sam has thus far managed to collect. He frowns, and runs a finger over one's spine. "Hey, Sammy, what's up with these?"

Sam grins. This is part of his plan, the big thing that he's working on, and he's thrilled that he can share it with Dean. "I'm learning how to read!"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah! I.. charmed a servant, also, into bringing me these books, and if I'm careful with my stipend I can buy more over time, one every couple of weeks. And reading's really not that hard once you get started, it's just a bunch of rules and patterns that mostly have an underlying logic, so once you've got the basics down it's just a question of learning more words and expanding your vocabulary, which, see, I've got a dictionary." It's so freeing to be able to talk, just talk about what Sam is thinking. He's never had that, before. "And once I get good, I... I want to write. I want to write about my life, even if no one ever reads it, I want to write about my life as a slave, and what it's like. I know no one would publish a book written by a slave, but maybe there's a way I can sneak it out, or use a pseudonym, and maybe people will read and, I dunno, learn something. Maybe it will make them look at slaves a little differently, I don't know." He shrugs awkwardly and trails off, embarrassed to reveal his grand ambition. It sounds a lot more foolish, now that he's said it aloud. 

Dean laughs, but the look in his eyes is something soft. It looks almost like pride. "That's seriously awesome, Sammy," he says. "I always knew you were a smart one. If anyone can do it..." He trails off, looking oddly wistful, and runs his finger again over the spine of a book. After a moment of silence, he speaks again, his voice so quiet that Sam can hardly hear him.

"Do you think that you could teach me, too?"

"Yeah, of course! But..." Sam trails off, and sadness fills him. He'd forgotten for a moment that Dean was only here on a visit. "It would take quite some time. How long is your Master staying?"

Dean swallows, and Sam can see his Adam's apple bob. He suddenly has the urge to press his lips against it, and has to shake himself away from the thought. 

"Actually," Dean says, "I was hoping that I could stay forever."

For a second, all that Sam can do is stare. When he regains his composure, all that he can think at first is, "Wouldn't your Master be angry?"

"Nah," Dean shrugs. "She's got a shiny new toy now, you know how it is. Honestly? I don't think she'd even notice." He looks at Sam with those wide eyes that have been getting Sam in trouble ever since he met him. "Please, say something. Preferably yes."

"I... Yes! Yes, of course, Dean, fuck, yes, you can stay. Don't ever leave. I'm... good friends... with the head housekeeper, he won't report you. We can get you some extra clothes and he always tries to give me too much food anyway, and we can maybe even ask for bigger quarters..." 

Dean silences Sam with a press of his lips that turns into a long, sweet kiss.

As they cling to one another, Sam reflects that _this_ , the brush of lips and tongues together, is the only thing they've had to sustain them for 15 years. But now, finally, they're free to build a life together. They're free to figure out what else there can be. And when they fuck, it will be only when and how they want to.

For the first time ever, there is no worry in Sam's heart that this kiss could be their last.

He hugs Dean tighter, and considers that it just might be a worthwhile trade.


End file.
